Art Memories: Growing Up in An Artist Nurturing Environment

Many of the earliest memories I have involve art of some form. I remember drawing The Rainbow Fish around the first grade. And I am pretty sure that I held onto it for much longer than I should have. But it helped to remind me of where I came from in terms of art.

As soon as I was able to choose an elective in school, it was always art. Always. Even going into my senior year of high-school. But the years in between helped shape me as an artist and overall lover of the arts. I am thankful for the teachers I had during that time, the mentors I was lucky enough to have, and the lessons I learned.

One of my mentors was my next-door neighbor. For a few years, it was him and his elder roommate. Bryn was, and still is, a renaissance man: pilot, musician, artist. John, before he passed away a little over 15 years ago, was the same; a man of many talents. I remember his piano tuning truck always sitting in their driveway. Their whole house always smelled of tobacco from John’s pipe. And John used to give out the big candy bars at Halloween.

Late at night, all of the kids on our cul-de-sac would walk over to their yard and take a look at the stars and planets through the massive telescope that John owned. After his death, it was donated to the local boy scouts’ troop. But I still held onto the little books he gave all of us. His roommate, Bryn, allowed each of us to take a painting of our choice from John’s things after his death. I chose one of the night sky with stars. It is, to this day, one of my most prized possessions.

It not only reminds me of simpler times, but of a man who poured his energy into the neighborhood kids.

Not long after John passed, Bryn moved houses. Still in the same neighborhood. Still within walking distance. Just not on the same cul-de-sac. It was the true ending of an era. No more dinners at their eclectic house with all of the neighbors. But I still maintained that same relationship with Bryn. If I needed advice or a break from the chaos of my home, I walked over to his house. James Taylor could often be found playing through the speakers. There was always a new project being created. Paintings on giant canvas tarps. Stain-glass techniques with water color and acrylic. Artists and friends constantly flowing through the house...and even a stray lizard or two.

It was within those nurturing walls that I learned how to be myself, how to take everyone one step at a time, and how to appreciate all different forms of art.

I will always be grateful for someone having taken an interest in making sure I knew all of my choices. Someone who encouraged me. Who advised me. I will carry that feeling with me always. Do you have any good memories from your childhood about art, or the things you grew up doing? Sports? Music?